


That's Green, Baby!

by nihachu



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, theyre idiots your honor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28326672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nihachu/pseuds/nihachu
Summary: "The world is still colourful without me in it, George.""Fucking- yeah but that's not my point."This was new, this was exciting, and maybe George kinda digged it.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	That's Green, Baby!

George saw colours, now. That was new, and new things were few and far between in George's life.

He saw red and purple. He even saw orange. He’s not an idiot, he’s a grown man for fucks’ sake. Not everyone is privileged enough to see things that are red or purple though. Lots of people were even less privileged than himself, so he never complained about it as anything more than a joke. It gets to a guy though, y’know? It’s little, but it stays.

Most importantly though, he saw green.  
He saw Dream, and god had that been something. Dreams’ iconic colour, George now understood, was softer than he always thought; calmer, like the warmth in your gut when laughing in the grass with loved ones. Green was a colour George felt he could hold in his hands and cherish. Maybe he was just a sap for his best friend, but he really liked green now. Green is warm and lively, a colour so full of emotions that George can only describe it as being lingering.

Or, maybe it was due to it being half past five in the morning, and George was prepared to pass out as soon as Dream left the call.

They’d just gotten done filming the colourblind glasses video, which had naturally led both to become a bit mushy-hearted towards one another.   
“So, when’re you gonna wear them outside?” Dream asked, clearly still amused at George's child-like excitement.  
“I’m not sure yet. It won’t be as exciting all by myself.” The brunete mused sleepily.   
“I mean, you were such a great hype man. It’d feel a little anticlimactic on my own.” he said with a flush dusting his cheeks. fatigue truly seemed to bring out a person's embarrassing thoughts.

Dream giggled, and George could feel his friend staring at him despite the camera being off.  
“That wonder inside you is all your own, none of it is me buddy. I’m just excited too.” 

“But what if it isn’t as fun?” he pouted.

“The world is still colourful without me in it, George.”

“fucking- yeah but that’s not my point.” laughing, George leaned back while crossing his arms. This unintentionally causes a lull in conversation, the two being engulfed by a bubble of late night warmth.

Moments like these were why the older appreciated his closest friends so much. Times where he can sit quietly, not pressured to make casual conversation about things he couldn’t give a shit about. He loved this warmth, it felt like a pile of blankets and pillows that he was allowed to bury himself in without guilt or worry. This is true trust, isn’t it?   
The trust that you can surround yourself with one person until your thoughts are swimming with only them, that you can drown yourself in them without worrying they’ll take advantage of you. Late nights with Dream had the same intoxicating warmth as the sun on one's face during a nap always had. Maybe it was Dream that caused the fuzziness. 

‘haha, what the fuck?’  
like bubbles popping, George quickly halted his train of thought.

“Dream, this feels weird.” the older man whined, fully aware of how annoying he sounded. The night now felt suffocatingly thick with an indescribable energy due to his own overzealous mindset. Feeling weighed down, feeling like he’d been pulled under. Dragging a hand down his face, rubbing his cheek a bit raw, he groaned in annoyance at Dreams’ delayed response.  
“It’s a big feeling, Georgie. It’s life.” Dream sounded so quiet and tired. There was that ever-present humor in his tone though. He always sounded like a kid who never left the candy store.  
“Why is life so big in my chest?” the older pondered. 

“I mean, you’re life, y'know. I am too, we’re both alive buddy.”

“It’s annoying.”   
Dream tried to respond, his noises coming out garbled at first.  
“George, you don’t mean annoying as in you’re not doing mentally well, right?” It was gentle, and it was Dream.

“No you idiot, I mean that this feeling is annoying. I feel muddy. All slow and frustrated.” George sighed and spoke softly too, knowing Dream took his friends’ mental health seriously.   
“Well why do you feel all muddy?”  
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking you. Actually, You’re kind of dumb, I‘m not asking you, I’m just complaining.” Dream scoffed at this.   
“Ok rude ass”   
“You are what you eat.”  
“You fucking buffoon.”   
George's smile stretched further and further until his cheek bones began to ache. 

“Really? I’m stupid? Did you hear the magical poetry shit I was just spouting about my emotions? That was some Shakespearean shit, Clay.” George snickered.  
“You described yourself as feeling slow and muddy, George.”

“Yeah, I bet you I’m related to William himself, good old iambic man.” The brunette could feel Dreams’ exhaustion from across the ocean.  
“Alas, poor George, I knew him well. Fucking loser.”   
Letting out a drawn out ‘aww’, George leaned into his mic while grinning. His heart felt miles away, so far gone that it almost felt like it was overseas. Maybe he could find it in Florida, if he looked in the right places.   
“You know I’m your favorite, Dreamy-poo” George cooed sarcastically. The mud was still there, he never could seem to get rid of his muddiness entirely. Something was always holding him back, if only he could figure out what.

“You have no idea how right you are.”   
Pause.   
Georges brain stuttered at the tone in the youngers voice; what the fuck was that? He could see such a warm smile so clearly, picturing Dreams theoretical eyes crinkled as he smiles lovingly at his keyboard while speaking. What the fuck? That was for George, it was definitely meant for him, no one else was in call. It made Georges stomach do something he only vaguely recognized, but his heart was a whole other story.  
“Hey Dream, I’m seriously tired. I think I’m tapping out.” The older breathed slowly. He had to get out before his throat closed up and he couldn’t speak.

“Aw, alright. Get some sleep Georgie, and go use your glasses outside tomorrow!” Sounding mildly distraught, Dream hung up before the older could respond.   
No way in hell was George going to sleep now. Too many cogs were moving around in his head.  
As gently as he could, he tossed his headphones off and nearly threw himself onto his bed, laying still to check his pulse. This feeling was something familiar to George, but he couldn’t place it. It felt so soft, so warm andnostalgic, but new and fast all at once. He felt cold, and yet it was only due to his own inner warmth seeming to seep out. It was weird as shit, but it almost felt like this warmth that he felt was craving something else. Did that even make sense? This felt so airy, so odd that his head swam between the fatigue and confusion.

He hadn’t done anything weird, right? He and Dream joked constantly about those kinds of things. It was normal, they’d both even become used to being associated with one another like that from their fans’ art and stories. George enjoyed it even, knowing that he had someone he was close enough to that maybe he’d never miss out much if he decided to never date someone.   
George recalled Dream’s tone earlier,

'You have no idea how right you are.'

The olders ears became warm remembering how close Dream’s voice sounded, his stomach flipped and bubbled against his better wishes. Why had Dream sounded so, well, like that? Like if he spoke any slower George would be able to see his voice dripping with hot honey? He’d leaned into the mic to say it, George could tell. It was right in his ear, throaty and plagued with fatigue just as Georges had been. Dream sounded good, his voice was friendly and warming, welcoming to the highest degree.

Dreams voice was pretty.

George paused and widened his eyes at himself. Sleep deprivation sure was a bitch, he couldn’t remeber having thoughts as stupid as these in months.  
Maybe, just maybe, sleep can fix all things. Yes, George decided, sleep can very much do that, and do that it will.

The room's crisp air bit at the skin of his nose as he lay still, annoying him enough to bury himself in covers as he rubbed his nose drowsily. Like this, George chased that unknown desire of this newfound warmth of his while drifting off, only realizing upon the brink of unconsciousness that he knew one thing had changed. 

In the past hour of his life, George hadn’t felt any mud in his chest whatsoever.

Tuesday afternoon started off much colder than George remembered ending it hours ago. If not for the comforter he was tucked neatly in to, he knew the room around him would feel like little pin pricks all over (just as it felt now, grazing his cheekbone that peeked out from his pile). Eyes heavy as he opened them, he let out a wail of annoyance at having to drag himself out of bed. Just one foot at a time, he told himself. One foot, and then-  
“Shit, that’s cold.”

Ever so slowly, George made his way to the kitchen. Grey light flooded the kitchen as an overcast city sat outside the man's humble flat. A heavy sigh passed the brunette's lips as he slapped a sandwich together. The heavy grey sky caught his attention as his brain, now awake, processed the weather.   
“Cloudy brain, cloudy skies.” he scoffed to himself.   
The man paused suddenly, fingers fumbling and causing him to drop the half-made peanut butter sandwich on the counter with a pathetic slap.  
“Oh shit-”

There was a reason George had been awake until sunrise, and there was a reason he had a hard time sleeping after recording too.   
“You have no idea how right you are.”  
Dreams’ voice reverberated through the man's chest in a way that made his ears hot.  
This was a topic to think about after he’d begun eating, else his stomach would do that weird thing again.  
George solemnly unstuck his sandwich from the counter, vowing to himself he’d clean it after he’d had a long thought about the previous night's events. Pouring himself a tall glass of grape juice (because who even likes oranges, right?) he sat down finally on his sofa.

Now, how was he even to start this? What was he even meant to think of? He should have made two sandwiches because this would be a lot of thinking.

After a moment of eating, he recalls the events for the third time since they occured; this almost always means that this event left a mark on your heart.  
Dream had laughed, Dream always laughs. Dream flirted, again, something he always does. So, why now is George focusing so much on his words?   
Letting his mind run free, maybe he’d find his answer.

Remembering, George's face grew warm, and his eyes watered as some emotion he couldn't place grew in his chest. It was a hot and heavy need for something. He thought back to how close Dream sounded, how honest and engulfing his tone was. He meant it, and he meant it only for George. Every syllable that George unknowingly stored in his chest for safe keeping, it truly was meant for him. Otherwise, why would George's heart feel like a livewire right now? If Dreams words reached his heart, something new would catch on fire. Did Dream know how persuasive and heady his voice was? He had to know, George wasn’t the only person who thought so. He remembers tasting something sweet as they spoke, on the very tip of his tongue. It’s how he always expected gold to taste as a child, the way all kids expect luxury to sit on their tongues. Dream was a luxury, and George wanted to taste it, didn’t he? That’s common, Dream makes everyone feel this way.

Realizing how warm he was, George placed his cool hands on his neck, which was currently burning up. He chugged what grape juice was left and steadied his breathing- when had his heart quickened that much?  
It was itchy under his skin, yet this itch kept moving deeper.   
‘annoying’ he thought.

Fuck, this isn’t very fun at all. It was kind of painful, in a way.   
“So, I think Dreams kind of hot,” the brunete muttered aloud to himself, “so does like half the world. You’re not special, George!”

‘But who else does he call Georgie, who else does he drip himself all over like you?’ his subconscious provided, causing the burn in his abdomen all over again. 

‘Who does he love? Who does he want more than you?’

“God, shut up George.” He finally muttered to himself. Where was this bullshit even coming from? Dream has him, and he had Dream. It was as simple as that.

These dangerous thoughts bring dangerous ends, but for now, George will wash his dishes and think deeply about his love of cold weather.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Not too sure how many chapters this'll be, but just an idea i've had brewing in my head for a while now :) feedback is appreciated!


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